A Different Prince
by Maddie
Summary: Missing scene from "Skin Deep". No spoilers if you have seen the episode. Rumpel didn't keep her in the dungeon forever did he? And where did the blue dress come from? A short fic set several days after Belle's arrival at the Dark Castle


**Author: M**addie**  
>Title: <strong> A Different Prince  
><strong>Rating: <strong>PG**  
>Word count: <strong>1163**  
>Summary: <strong> Missing scene from "Skin Deep". No spoilers if you have seen the episode. Rumpel didn't keep her in the dungeon forever did he? And where did the blue dress come from? A short fic set several days after Belle's arrival at the Dark Castle

**A Different Prince**

The door closed with a soft but resolute click. She held her breath as she waited to hear the sound of the key turning in the lock, but all she heard was his retreating footsteps. He truly did plan on leaving her alone, as he promised he would - at least for now. She had resigned herself to her dungeon cell, making peace with the crude accommodations. So when he led her to the southern wing of the castle, she had assumed he intended her to clean these rooms too. But he had ushered her into this new room, with no word to assure her that these would be her new quarters, only a promise that this place was to be hers and hers alone. Her sanctuary.

Belle sat tentatively on the edge of the bed feeling suddenly small and out of place in her lavish gown. Always inappropriate, and starting to look care worn and untidy she had repeatedly wished she had asked to bring more appropriate clothing with her. Taking a deep breath she quelled the sob she felt building in her chest. She had not cried the last two nights. She had accepted the reality of her situation with had settled around her like a shroud the first few days of her imprisonment. More than once she had asked herself what had she done?

Taking a second deep breath, Belle, looked around the room, all her senses took in the details of what might well be her prison for the rest of her life. Her quarters were surprisingly bright and comfortably appointed if not decadently lavish, which was more that she had expected but somehow less than she knew he was capable of. Correct enough that she would be comfortable, but severe enough that she would not forget her position in his household. She was a captive, regardless of the conditions of her captivity. Though there were small amenities she would have considered thoughtful had the situation been different – the freshly picked bouquet of spring wildflowers on the bedside table, a selection of books on a tiny shelf in the corner, threads, needles and fabrics in a small basket next to the chair in the tiny alcove by the window should she feel compelled to needlework. A colorful throw was tossed almost carelessly over that same arm chair as if inviting her to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea to while away the afternoon reading.

Belle sighed, "A cup of tea would be nice," she said aloud to the empty room. The words had no sooner left her lips that she heard a quiet grumble from a point in the wall near the bed. To her delight an until-now-unseen small door slid aside and behind it was a tiny compartment which contained a white china tea pot, swaddled in a cozy, along with a cup, cream and sugar. She smiled despite her situation. Apparently the walls had ears because someone had over heard her comment. She took the tray from the dumb waiter and its door immediately closed so that the wall once again looked like a wall.

"I don't suppose, a change of clothes would be possible," she asked tentatively. "I didn't exactly have time to pack a trunk, and what I'm wearing is hardly practical." She did not have long to wait before the door to the wardrobe creaked open. Inside, neatly arranged were petticoats and drawers, bodices and skirts. The items were functional if not fancy, and obviously of new fabrics, not hand-me-downs. "Why thank you," she said, surprised that she did not feel foolish talking to thin air. There appeared to be advantages to living in an enchanted castle even if the castle's 'prince' was someone to be feared. Feeling just a bit self conscious that someone might be watching, she quickly slipped out of her gown and into a simple white bodice and blue dress. She gathered up the gown and shoved it far back into the closet, knowing it was probably not something she would need any time soon. Then she closed the cabinet doors and settled into the chair with her tea to consider the strange turn her life had taken in such a short time.

She should be terrified. Most women she knew would have fainted multiple times by now. Everyone knew the stories, some almost mythic in proportion, of the evil deeds Rumplestiltskin had performed. Every one knew the rumors. Every parent had used his legend to frighten their children into obedience. Why then, instead of fear, did she feel curiosity? Perhaps her father had been right calling her a tomboy when she was young. She was far more likely, as a child, to be found with her skirts hitched over her knees, barefoot, up to her knees in the creek catching minnows and tadpoles with her bare hands than to be learning her French knots and running stitches sitting by Nanny's knee. And she'd been so proud to bring her prized wigglers home to show to Papa. She had always loved a challenge. Perhaps that was it. Faced with a mundane life as Gaston's wife, the little girl in her had accepted the challenge thrown down by Rumplestiltskin. As a child she had dreamed a prince would one day fall passionately in love with her and whisk her away to live forever happily with him in luxury only the rich could dream of. That he would shower her with tokens of his deep and abiding love, and be the most handsome man in the land. Rumplestiltskin was no prince charming. But that did not mean he did not have worth. And she swore, if she was to spend the rest of her life here, she would seek out that worth.

Belle did not know how long she sat, curled in the chair, cradling a now cold cup of tea, but she was roused from her reverie by the soft sound of the little door in the wall near the bed. She got up, her curiosity peeked, for she hadn't asked aloud for anything. Inside the opening lay a single white rose, and a plain note. Written on the note in a flowing hand was a single sentence. "Dinner at 7 sharp in the dining room, if you will join me." Belle turned over the letter. There was no other mark. No signature, no seal. The message was not a question, nor was it precisely a command. The little door slid closed again. Apparently he did not expect an answer. Perhaps he also did not expect a refusal. Belle slid the note into the drawer of the bedside table, smoothed her skirt and her hair finishing just as the mantle clock struck seven tones.

_Well_, she said to herself, _its time to see how this new phase of my life will play. Your prince awaits_.

And she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

(end)


End file.
